Meeting of The Minds
by thegreatanonymouswriter
Summary: Mycroft meet W. Read it to find out more. Inspired by Americanjedi: The Wee Doctor Series.


This is just an Au that I got after reading **The Wee Doctor Series **by **Americanjedi **on AO3. For those who haven't read that amazing piece of work, I suggest you read it first then mine.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination...

_**_breakline_breakline_breakline_**_

**...We meet like sovereign princes of independent states, abroad, on neutral ground, freed from our contexts. -The Four Loves, C. S. Lewis**

It was an extraordinary day in central London when sunny fair weather coincided with a lull in politics, projects and policies. A near impossible combination so far as Mycroft Holmes was concerned, yet his more indulgent side was not above taking the small block of time to savour such a rare treat.

Dismissing Anthea and leaving the car, Mycroft settled on a delightful café-style restaurant with tables out on the pavement and trees providing shaded ambiance without blocking out the sky- it was perfect. He made note of the CCTV blind spot; ideal for future covert-public meetings.

Later, the irony of this thought was not lost.

"Hello."

Concealing a start (_he'd not thought himself distracted, yet had not seen an approach from among the diners or staff, and anyone from the main walk would certainly have caught his eye_) Holmes looked up from his mostly finished lunch and raised a refined brow.

Plenty of time to engender a state of high alert.

Hands (_dry and nails clipped- semi-retired health professional; skin rough from years abroad in harsh climates, tan faded; corresponding marks of familiarity with handguns- illegal_), a standard-issue cane (_security for a weakened leg caused by past injury_), overall posture (_ex-military officer not recently discharged_), handmade woollen jumper over a neat button-up _(lower- or middle-class conservative traditionalist background_), face- Oh!

"**W**." Mycroft maintained outward calm. "This is highly unusual."

The man who could easily be a much older John Watson shrugged slightly. "Spontaneous things usually are, I've found. May I?"

"Yes, of course." As W pulled out a chair Mycroft's mind was already spinning through accumulated data and the improbability of being outside the reach of underlings who could politely insist on extending hospitality. Thoughts of the mobile sitting comfortably in his pocket were instantly discarded. "Spontaneous, you say?"

W (_almost certainly Watson_) settled comfortably. "As is much of my life. I was perhaps just as surprised as you are now to find myself presented with this opportunity." His smile was genuine, and matched the aware eyes. "I privately never thought we would meet in person."

Mycroft fleetingly acknowledged the equivalent of being scrutinized by a Holmes, if a dispassionately critical sweep could be compared to W's frank (_discomforting_) air of astuteness. Young John's ability to cut at the heart of things was evidently a trait come by honestly.

W appeared in his forties, formerly a career army doctor (_surgeon?_) with the rank of major or captain. Discharged after being wounded in action, so loyal and unconventional (_a front lines surgeon could be nothing but_). Superficially a mid-tier generic accent, his economic grooming, clothes and few items (_each individually common or second-hand_) showed merely a practical working-class Englishman.

More facts slotted into place. It seemed young John was a blatant attempt at recreating this man (_by his enemy no less; why?_) achieved by design, accident, and some boyish emulation. Ergo, this was W's preferred guise.

W waited out the observational pause before speaking. "You won't find any records," he commented.

"You seem quite certain." The British Government studied him with interest.

"Don't be blinded by what you observe." The smile returned briefly. "The unbiased viewing of facts is consequence-based, and even the most educated guesses about cause can result in faulty conclusions."

"So I am unfairly biased in this case by my experience?" Mycroft leaned back, intrigued and wary of the unexpected philosophy lesson.

"Something like that. Your intelligence is astounding and your grasp of perceived reality exceptional, yet in places it remains just as flawed as another man's. Only a mind firmly grounded in truth and natural law is capable of transcending the innate blinders of ideological intelligence."

Mycroft blinked. Did W just call him... transparent?

The man noticed. "I'm not here to play mind games, though this chat has been rather enlightening."

"Learn anything you'd care to share?" Mycroft managed.

"Hmm..." (_Mycroft already associated the sound with personal upset._) "That you aren't my enemy."

The British Government stilled, hiding a sudden mental flurry that in no way resembled alarm.

It didn't work. "Oh, don't mistake me; I've never meant you or yours harm. I am merely surprised that despite all appearances, you truly do conform to the role you play out of a sort of... overbearing altruism. Fallible, yet a refreshing change of pace. Remarkable."

W seemed to contemplated this before adding, offhand; "We neither of us are defined by what we stand against, Mr. Holmes. Good day!" And between one blink and the next W was on his feet, striding away.

The remainder of a promising day went downhill from there. Starting with an awkward incident involving the tab whilst calling in agents and Anthea, which meant losing the man in the migration of an ending lunch hour, then enduring prolonged eyestrain only to find a previously missed flaw in the area's CCTV network allowed their target to escape without being taped at any angle, rounded off when a normally competent surveillance team admitted to tracking the wrong suspected taxi. Twice**.**

It was masterful, impossible, and most importantly, too late.


End file.
